


Watching Still Living Roots be Consumed by the Flame

by Pollys_hymnia



Series: Rare Pair Love Affair [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Firesong - Freeform, M/M, Mini-Sequel, in a short space, lots of yearning, mini-prequel?, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollys_hymnia/pseuds/Pollys_hymnia
Summary: Daeron's thoughts after returning to Doriath.  Can be read as a sequel to "Proximity in Distance," "Though I've Handled the Wood, I Still Worship the Flame" and "The Ashes in my Wake"
Relationships: Daeron (Tolkien)/Fëanor | Curufinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Daeron (Tolkien)
Series: Rare Pair Love Affair [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1413193
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Watching Still Living Roots be Consumed by the Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actuallyfeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/gifts).



‘Rash’ was not a word others would use to describe Daeron. He was often serious and always graceful, well respected for his achievements and his talent. But if they only knew the sheer amount of precision he poured into every action—every step was a measured, well-rehearsed dance he had performed thousands of times without deviation. Only in his music, in the songs he had trouble fitting to words, did anyone catch a glimpse of the restlessness that persisted in his soul. Sometimes, the restraints he placed so carefully around himself loosened. And the ends were fraying now, ready to be undone. 

It was only with the greatest effort that he was able to re-gather his semblance of control after his last meeting with Fëanor. Daeron had been so close to letting go of everything—the well-worn course of his life, his home, his duty. He wanted to offer it all up like a sacrifice, setting fire to the remnants and freeing what was left of himself to rise with the smoke. 

Both the desire and the unfulfilled regret continued to smolder just below the surface of his placid demeanor. Those who knew him will, and they were few, maybe sensed that something was amiss. There was a strain to some of the melodies he played of late, like something else was struggling to be heard. Even in his silence there was a sense of disquiet. Of a storm building.

And then there were the letters. 

They were few at first, but they became more frequent. Sweet words of love and hope that flowed in elegant script across the page like whispers. Daeron could almost feel Fëanor’s warm breath against his neck and in his ear, as though he had never left his embrace. 

His own letters were shorter, acknowledgments of his own feelings but always tempered by a reminder of their obligations. Reminders of the oath.

Tonight, alone in his room, Daeron stared long at the fire burning low in his hearth. Eventually, he took a fresh piece of parchment and wrote one word in firm, resolute Cirth:

“Soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Hozier (of course)


End file.
